


Burned on the Stake

by master_o_ceremonies



Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Burning, Capital Punishment, Cruelty, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dystopia, Execution, Explicit Sexual Content, Extreme, F/F, F/M, Forced Orgasm, High Heels, Humiliation, Judicial, Public Nudity, Punishment, Self-Bondage, Sexual Violence, Snuff, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29379723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/master_o_ceremonies/pseuds/master_o_ceremonies
Summary: In the later part of the twenty-first century womens' rights have deteriorated at an alarming pace. While peaceful protest remains legal, violent protest against the new status quo has become a problem. Draconian new laws have been passed, ensuring that women convicted of violent protest are condemned to one of the harshest forms of capital punishment ever invented.They are burned on the stake.Notatthe stake.Onthe stake.Tonight, Candace Linneman is going to die. As with every execution, her demise will be broadcast live, as a public service. Across the world, millions of viewers are going to watch as her sentence is carried out.WARNING: This story is extremely dark and disturbing. Note the tags, read the description. You've been warned.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Burned on the Stake

**Author's Note:**

> FINAL WARNING: The _fantasy_ of beautiful, naked women meeting a terrible fate can be arousing, while such a reality, if it ever came to exist would be extraordinarily terrible. The world-view expressed by the dystopian, authoritarian government in this story is a plot device, not my actual outlook on women and life. If any of you out there actually do feel this way in the real world, please fuck off, right now, and seek professional help. This is _fantasy only._

Phrasing is important.

Consider the phrase: "cruel and unusual." The key word is, of course, "and." For a punishment to be cruel and unusual it must be both. Surely, if several other nations have adopted a certain type of punishment as standard practice, it was not all that unusual, even if it was cruel. 

At least, that was how the seventeen Supreme Court justices ruled in 2074, in a ten to seven decision. Congress passed a law mandating extreme cruelty, the President signed it, and the Supreme court rubber-stamped that decision, through the flimsiest of justifications. 

It didn't matter that the countries that employed such a method of execution were not Western, developed democracies like the United States. It didn't even matter that they were, in fact some of the small, absurdly corrupt dictatorships that arose after the Russian central government imploded twenty years previously. These were countries where women's rights were an even bigger joke than they had become in America, even more so than what they had been under Russia's thumb. There were also a few tin-pot dictators in South America and Africa who gleefully copied the sadistic invention of the former Russians.

The masses cheered for cruelty, and the political machinery obliged. After all, that's how democracy worked.

* * *

When twenty-two year-old Candace Linneman informed her husband, Sean, that she was going to the protest, he said no.

"It's dangerous," he told her. "I mean, meetings, okay, whatever, but these things can get violent, you know? Worse, you could get arrested."

"It's a non-violent protest," she insisted. "I know Alex, she went over how important it is not to escalate with any of the scum-bags. Non-violence only. We'll be fine."

He crossed his arms. "They're just looking for an excuse to crack down, you know. Any excuse. And it's not even just prison, feminist protesters can get the death penalty. So, no, you're not going."

"That's for violent protesters, or organizers of violent protests. I'm not going to hit anyone. I even have a personal recorder hidden in my head band right now, already started, in case they try to claim I did anything I didn't. Full audio and video. Not to mention, I didn't organize anything. Alex did all the work. She's the one really taking the risk. And, if no one shows up, that's what they really want. That's the point of those laws. Screw that. I'm going."

"No." He grabbed her arm. "You're not. I'm not losing you."

She tried to pull away, but he was stronger. For a brief moment, there was a tug of war for her arm, each pulling in opposite directions.

Then she kicked him in the balls.

Reflexively, he let go, screaming in pain and shock. No longer pulling against her, he staggered backwards, tripped on the edge of a rug and went down hard.

The sickening "crack" as Sean hit his head against the corner of the coffee table was deafening in the otherwise silent room.

"Sean? Sean!" She ran to him, but he didn't respond. Then she noticed the rapidly spreading crimson stain on the beige carpet.

Thirty minutes later, Sean was pronounced dead. 

Ten minutes after that, Candace was arrested and charged with participating in a violent feminist protest, on the strength of the video recorded by her headband. 

Sean died as she protested a feminist issue, her attendance at a feminist protest. Therefore, legally, it was a violent feminist protest.

As the one who arranged the original protest, Alex clearly organized Candace's attendance and subsequent defiance as well. Within a few hours of when the original, entirely-non violent protest ended, the protest that Candace was forced to skip anyway, the police came for Alex too.

* * *

A weird thing happened to identity politics in the late 2020s and early 2030s: There was a schism, a split.

Historically, there was a "big-tent" philosophy among liberal political movements, with the idea that an injustice perpetrated against one human, regardless of race, creed, sex, sexual orientation, gender identity and so forth, was an injustice against all. Human rights applied to everyone human, or so the thinking went.

There was, however, a recurring trend that perhaps had always been there but began to become more pronounced and noted by many community leaders. Women, predominantly white, privileged women seemed to consistently look for, and find ways to inject themselves and their causes into the conversation.

When African Americans protested for their right not to be beaten to death by the police, feminists found ways to turn the conversation towards keeping abortion legal.

When immigrants protested for the right not to have their children taken away from them and locked in cages, feminists tried to frame ending workplace sexual harassment as an equally pressing issue.

When police stood aside as Asian and particularly Chinese-Americans were attacked by angry mobs, weighted down and thrown into swimming pools for being "plague rats" responsible for originating not one, but two deadly plagues in the space of six years, the feminists seemed to think addressing a seven-point-five percent increase in reported date-rape was the top priority.

The big-tent strategy ended. The rest of the community moved on without the feminists.

In the following decade, the United States made record-breaking gains in stomping out white supremacy, passing comprehensive immigration reform and ensuring police forces applied the law evenly to people of different ethnicities, or at least more evenly than ever before.

On the other hand, feminists lost ground in a very big way, as their previous political allies shut them out.

"All MEN are created equal," became a favored phrase, if not a rallying cry.

Laws didn't change very much, but enforcement shifted with the social fabric, granting men more leeway and women far less. The law didn't need to cement a husband's absolute authority, if he was never prosecuted for exercising it. What good was a woman's right to a trial and to testify in court, if a man's word was always believed over hers?

The social tide turned, and women's rights were no longer seen as being a form of racial injustice, but rather, as the intellectual elites put it, an "independent social construct." After all women weren't the same as men, were they? Skin color, hair color, face shape -- these were utterly superficial things. Women, on the other hand, had different organs, different brain chemistry. They had two copies of an entire chromosome while men had one. What else, besides femininity, was caused by an extra chromosome? That was what caused Down Syndrome. How could you compare discrimination based on such fundamental biological differences to discrimination based merely on superficial skin color?

Or, so the logic went. It was so revolting, it made Candace want to puke. How was that any different than the racist propaganda spewed throughout the twentieth century? Of course, no one asked her. For one thing, she was a woman.

Some of the biggest proponents of the crackdown on women's rights were the immigrants from countries with more "traditional" values. As unprecedented numbers of immigrants were granted citizenship they were only too happy to vote to ensure their way of life was protected by the laws of the land.

Women retained the right to vote, but it was surprising how many sided with the anti-feminists. There was a large cohort of older women, predominantly those with grown male children, who pushed hard for traditional values.

When young, radical women protested this treatment, strict laws cracking down on feminist protesters, particularly any who became violent, were passed. Only after thirty years of gradual social change did the authoritarian legal framework locking in the new status quo finally emerge.

The penalty for violent feminist protest was death, but not by any traditional execution method. 

Men died by lethal injection.

Women convicted of any other capital crime died by lethal injection.

Violent, radical feminists, however, were different. They were much worse, a danger to the fabric of polite society. America was determined to make an example of them. Those women who violently rejected a woman's place in society received a death uniquely tailored to the female form.

Further, once the authorities went looking for these violent criminals, it was surprising how many they found. There was typically one execution scheduled every few weeks, though this varied depending on how many convictions had taken place in the previous year or two. 

Every execution of a radical feminist was live-streamed by the Federal government, free to view and record by anyone and everyone. These broadcasts served both as a warning to other women, and entertainment for those so inclined. 

The entire world could watch as a criminal was burned on the stake.

Not at the stake. On the stake.

* * *

Candace stared at the stilettos that would be put to use during her execution. She wished, oh how she wished, that they were literal stilettos, sharp daggers that would mercifully end her life with a clean strike to her heart or neck.

Instead, they were shoes. 

Designed by Theodore Ebon, she'd been told that a pair of Moonlit Elegance Stiletto heels such as the one before her typically retailed at $3,599.99. Unlike Candace, however, this particular pair of shoes would survive the next few hours and be auctioned off at a much higher price for having been part of her execution. They used a different high-end pair of high-heels every time, varying the model and brand of shoe so that various luxury designers could bid for the privilege of showcasing their creations for a large audience.

It would start soon. They were going to send her to Hell before she was even dead. 

She'd always been sensitive... down there. She dreaded her gyno visit every year. Her mind shut down every time she tried to contemplate the horror of what was about to happen, but now the time had come, and there was no avoiding it.

They'd configured the display screen in her cell to broadcast an execution a few weeks ago, so she could see what was about to happen to her. They wouldn't let her turn off the screen, but she had climbed onto her cot, pulled the thin sheet on her bed over her eyes and ears, and tried to tune out the endless screams.

This time, she would be the one screaming.

The guards made sure she had nothing that could be used to attempt suicide and watched her closely to prevent any attempts. She had no way to end this early, no choice but to suffer what was about to happen. 

The guards had roughly shaved and plucked every hair on her body below her neck. Then, they'd instructed her to shower, and to use the bathroom. It was her last shower, her last time sitting on a toilet. She would never wear any clothes again, either, other than those damned shoes.

She sat naked on a bench, toweling herself off from her shower with a small square towel made of a material sufficiently flimsy there was no way to hang herself with it. 

She briefly considered taking one of the shoes and trying to stab herself with pointy heel, but then decided that was probably futile. Even though they were called 'Stilettos' the heels weren't actually that sharp. Besides, even though the guards weren't present, but she was certain they were watching via the video cameras. They would be on her in a heartbeat if she deviated from their instructions. She'd learned quickly after being thrown in prison, that it was better to follow instructions. Failure to comply meant being roughly, painfully man-handled into compliance anyway.

A man, flanked by two fit, muscular women, entered the room.

The man was handsome, clean shaven with immaculately groomed dark hair and was wearing a black tuxedo with white shirt and bow-tie. His hands were covered with white gloves. 

The women wore matching black boots, tight-fitting black jeans and black sports bras that showed off impressive musculature. They were both blondes, though one had short curly hair, and the other long, straight hair. They wore black gloves, and each held a taser in one hand.

"Hello, my name is Phillip. I'll be your master of ceremonies this evening, and I wanted to introduce myself before we have to get started."

Candace sighed, resigned. "You mean you're my executioner."

"That's right," he nodded. "So, how do you want this to go?"

She blinked at that. "Excuse me? Quick and easy? Or, how about not at all?"

"No-no," he shook his head. "That's not up to me. The end result is the same no matter what, but we can make these last few minutes peaceful before we get started, or you can fight tooth and nail against my two assistants. Also, if you want, you can scream at me now in private. Get it out of your system and then cooperate, make peace as we get you ready to go. 

Candace didn't want to scream and rant. She wanted to cry. "Phillip? How do you live with yourself?"

Infuriatingly, he nodded, as if he was expecting this question. "Of course. You really want an answer?"

"I'm pretty sure it's because you're a piece of shit. They fought wars to get rid of people like you, you know?"

"And what if I told you I have a high school education and a kid with a rare genetic bone disease. Ten grand a month treatments. If I didn't do this, someone else would take the job and I lose Tim."

Candace stared back at him. "So, Tim is a boy?"

He shrugged. "Yes"

"No daughters then?"

He shrugged again. "You got me there."

There was a pause in the conversation.

"Listen," he said. "Here's my promise to you. There's some things I'm going to to do, and you're not going to be having much fun. You know it, I know it. But, I promise I won't make it any worse than the law says it has to be. I'm doing this for the government paycheck, and the government benefits, not because I'm a pervert or a sadist. You cooperate, and I'll be as gentle as I can getting you prepped and plugged. We can make these last few minutes, the last few minutes you have before it gets bad, relatively peaceful. What do you say?"

That he had the audacity to refer to one of the most painful methods of execution ever devised, a punishment he was about to inflect on her, as "not having much," turned her stomach. 

"Master of Ceremonies, was it?" she demanded. "It's all theater, isn't it? You've got some nerve coming back here and suggesting I go along with your performance, help your big show go smoothly. Sure you're gonna burn me on the stake, but it would just be so un-lady-like for me to cause trouble! Is that it?"

Phillip appeared entirely unphased. Her words seemed to bounce off his easy-going attitude. "I won't bother denying they like these events to be a performance. See how exposed my assistants arms and stomachs are? Generally, security wears tough, long-sleeve clothing, but the viewers like eye-candy so instead they pay the big bucks for these gals. They're wearing the eye-candy outfits, but they've got the training and skills to subdue a line-backer in under three seconds if they have to. And, believe it or not, the audience loves it if they get to show off. Whenever the flashy ninja-babes get to do their thing, that really gets the ratings up. The higher-ups are hoping you put up a fight, because it makes for a better performance. They're hoping to show off the violent radical feminist fighting like an animal, justifying all the shit they want to do, the shit you were protesting against. So, I'm here suggesting -- suggesting mind you, not telling or instructing or demanding, suggesting that this goes easier for you, and easier for your cause if you don't put up a fight."

Candace let out a slow breath. "Supposing that's all true, you're telling me this... why?"

"If you have trouble believing I'm not a selfish prick, I'd point out that I'd rather not risk the off-chance you lash out at me or my assistants. But, if you want the truth, my gals know their business and, mostly, I really don't want to hurt you any more than I already have to. God's honest truth, that's all."

It was Candace's turn to shrug. "Okay."

Philip nodded again and smiled what appeared to be a genuine smile. "Okay, then. Now, it's time to put on your heels."

* * *

Alexis Hearn watched as a guard approached her cell with a remote to reprogram the display screen.

"Just three more weeks and Hearn gonna burn!" The guard chuckled to herself. "And Big Eddie's gettin' laid tonight, too! Seein' as its your friend tonight, we wouldn't want you to miss a preview of what's comin'"

The screen itself was mounted behind thick plexiglass, protected from any tampering or destruction by inmates. Large rubber buttons could select the limited entertainment streams permitted to death-row inmates. The entertainment streams could be expanded (for good behavior) or limited (for bad behavior) with one of the remote controls the guards carried. For security reasons, the displays couldn't be reprogrammed remotely, or so the guards had informed her.

"You ever watched a burning?" The guard asked. "All the way through I mean, not one of them two minute super-cuts."

Alex glared back. "Do I look like a sick fuck to you?"

"Hell, yes. Rad-femmies are all sick fucks, y'all just haven't gotten the message through your thick skulls. That's why we make sure to deliver it, good an' hard, straight up your precious little cunts instead. But like I was sayin', most don't watch an entire burnin' from start to end. After a couple minutes the screamin' can start to get under your skin, let alone forty five minutes, an hour of that. But, it's only fair you know what to expect, since it'll be you we're all watchin' next time."

Alex shivered, as a range of emotions flowed over her. 

Candace would die tonight. Candace, the bitch who's mistake condemned her to this. Candace, her friend. Candace who she hadn't communicated with, except through lawyers, since she'd been arrested. Candace, beautiful Candace who Alex had secretly crushed on for years, even though her friend was probably straight and married to a man.

But then, Candace wasn't really responsible. It was men. It was the pigs and their enablers. It was the patriarchy, that subtle but indestructible thread that wound through American culture, that forever bound every woman to one form of servitude or another. 

She should forgive Candace. Now it was too late. There was no way to get a message to her before the execution began. 

Nevertheless, Alex forgave her, even though Candace would never know.

"Hey, you listen'in?" The guard demanded. "I'm given you yer options here. We got _Righteous Atonement_ , _Medical Odds and Legal Ends_ , _Dancing Melons_ , _Dying Damsel Diatribes_ , and _The Roasted Kitten Show_. Which one will it be?"

Alex blinked. "Uh..."

The guard rolled her eyes at Alex's apparent ignorance. "The Warden wants to make sure you see and hear this, so I'm going to program your display to broadcast the proceedings downstairs in full, from start to finish. The video feeds are all public, but no one watches it raw. Lots of little players but you got your big five that do their own mashup of the camera angles, and provide a little light commentary before, after and on the side. Warden's policy is it's your choice, pick one of the freaky porno ones for all I care. Default's gonna be Odds and Ends if you just keep starin' like a gapin' fish."

Of course, Alex knew about the death streams already. They were abhorrent, obscene, but common knowledge. She hesitated because she wasn't sure which to pick.

The big five streams formed a spectrum from religious moralizing to what the guard had accurately described as "freaky porn" in roughly the same order the guard had rattled them off. Given that all condemned women were executed naked, on top of the nature of the execution method, a burning was fundamentally pornographic. It was therefore hardly surprising that a significant amount of coverage skewed that way.

 _Righteous Atonement_ was run by Christian fundamentalists whose commentary consisted of condemning the nefarious feminist sinners and praying to Jesus at every opportunity. The preachers who ran the commentary were well known for gleefully over-using the phrase "fiery pit of sin" as a way of describing the literal Hell of the Bible, and as a thinly-veiled euphemism for a condemned woman's crotch. As disgusting as the porno streams were, Alex found the level of psychotic religious fervor and entitlement far more repulsive than the death streams that played up the disturbing erotic elements of the executions. 

_Medical Odds and Legal Ends_ , or simply _Odds and Ends_ as it was commonly dubbed, ran commentary focused on the details of the crime that got each woman condemned. Then, after the execution began, they brought in medical experts to evaluate the physical condition of the condemned's body and proximity to death at a given moment throughout the process. They had a supplementary betting site that brokered wagers on the progress of an execution and the exact moment of death.

 _Dancing Melons_ was straight-up porn. The hosts were two sisters with large breasts who broadcast the show completely naked. Their on-air personas were that of air-headed bimbos. Comments ranged along the lines of "Oh my, that must sting, I know I'm really sensitive down there!" to the classic "She's sure got a set of pipes on her!" as a woman died in agony. This last comment usually got a reply from the co-host along the lines of: "I know! I don't think I've made that much noise since I broke up with my ex-boyfriend Raul and his ten inch cock! Raul, if you're out there, be a sweetie and gimme a call sometime!" Alex's interpretation of the show's success was that by downplaying the horror taking place, the naked co-hosts implicitly gave permission to the viewer to enjoy the nudity of the condemned, to perhaps pretend those shrieks were the vocalization of erotic delight rather than extreme pain. Or, perhaps Alex was overthinking it, ascribing emotional depth to barbaric men who wanted nothing more than to see big, naked tits.

The hosts of _Dying Damsel Diatribes_ or _Triple-D_ , were a husband and wife team of semi-retired BDSM porn stars. Unlike the hosts of _Dancing Melons_ , they were both well-spoken, and while their attire was frequently provocative, nudity was primarily limited to the woman being put to death. While _Dancing Melons_ played up the eroticism of the naked body and downplayed the nature of the broadcast as a horrific, painful execution, _Triple-D_ catered to the sado-masochists who found the pain and suffering of the condemned to be erotic in and of itself. In their long history of making adult videos the hosts' gimmick had been a willingness to do anything and everything, especially and including the more extreme kinks, but only with each other. As such, they knew their way around the pain and pleasure centers of the human body. _Triple-D_ didn't merely offer viewers implicit permission to ignore the horror of an execution, but to revel in it. They made money advertising both their own adult videos, and various sex toys during their execution live-streams.

 _The Roasted Kitten Show_ was fucked up, plain and simple, even by the standards of a live-stream covering an execution. While its numbers were slightly lower than the other four of the big five, the size of its viewership attested to the staggering level of depravity out there. Like _Triple-D_ , it too catered to the sado-masochists, and in particular those who were also part of the furry community. It wasn't so much commentary, as a cartoon that ran before and split-screen alongside the execution. The humanoid, cartoon animals of Sunshine Glade were always catching "misbehaving rascals" in their midst, and saw fit to burn their own criminals in the same way the humans did in their far off city on "Burning Day." Animation of one resident of Sunshine Glade being burned on the stake for some trivial offense was broadcast side-by-side with the real condemned woman experiencing the same treatment. The animation of the dying cartoon character was partially randomized and delegated to computer so not even the show-runners knew exactly how long the final animation would run, which led to _Odds and Ends_ running a betting pool where real people bet real money on the progress of the animated, cartoon executions.

As far as Alex was concerned, _Righteous Atonement_ was straight out, even the kittens would be better than the religious whack-jobs. And, no, she was absolutely not going to pick the kittens either. The problem with _Odds and Ends_ was that they'd be talking about what Candace did. Not only would they be talking up and justifying how Candace got railroaded, they'd be mentioning _her_ too. Fuck no, she did not want to hear that. That left the non-furry erotic-themed shows, which were, of course, both disgusting. On the other hand, they were all disgusting. The whole institution was a crime against humanity. Yet, she had to pick.

"Fine, fine, put on the damsels, er, _Triple-D_ then," Alex told the guard. Yes, they embraced the execution as entertainment, but on some level, didn't everyone who was watching this thing do it because it was entertainment? Because the darker side of human nature wanted to see it? It was so fucked up, but there was a certain honesty there, an honesty that was lacking from the infuriating air-head brigade on Dancing Melons.

"Oh, hah! You really are a sick fuck perv, then!" The guard laughed. "I knew it! Or is it true that Letitia is secretly a rad-femmie man-hater? That's what they say, since the way I hear it, while she's wearin' the nipple clamps in half her old vids, but she's puttin' 'em on Carl in the other half. Never went lezzie, though. You know her maybe? Maybe you got a thing for chocolate, and have a secret lezzie crush on your rad-femmie hero, hmm? Is that it?"

"Fuck you," Alex spat.

"Hah! Not my job," the guard laughed, before turning to leave. "That's Big Eddie's job, in three weeks. So you pay attention, now!"

The screen lit up with stylized white lettering on a simple black background that read "Dying Damsel Diatribes" with "Execution Countdown: 00:00:07:43" in smaller lettering below. Second by second, the counter ticked away, rapidly approaching zero.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome! This is _Triple-D_ , the _Dying Damsel Diatribes!_ " a cheery woman's voice rang out, as the picture shifted. "I'm Letitia."

"And I'm Carl." A man's voice chimed in.

Letitia, a smiling African-American woman with titanic breasts sat with her legs crossed on a burgundy-colored couch next to Carl, an attractive man with pale skin and dirty blond hair. They both looked to be in their late twenties or early thirties. They both wore black.

Carl wore an all-black suit with a black shirt, black pants, black socks, black shoes and a black tie. What little clothing covered Letitia's body consisted of a scandalously tight black dress which revealed extensive cleavage along with the faint outline of her nipples. The dress was sufficiently short that if she uncrossed her legs viewers would almost certainly be able to tell whether she was wearing any panties.

Actually, Letitia was really rather attractive. It wasn't merely her figure, it was her confidence, her bearing. It was also the way she opened the broadcast instead of her husband, and the bitchy guard's suggestion she might be sympathetic to the feminist cause. If she weren't hosting one of these degenerate death streams, Alex wouldn't kick her out of bed. Or maybe any woman wearing an outfit with some amount of style, rather than drab prison clothes started to seem attractive at this point. It had been years.

"You all out there excited for tonight?" Letitia asked. 

"Of course they are," Carl grinned back at his wife. "I sure am! Candace Linneman, Caucasian, twenty three, brown hair, trim, athletic build. Quite a looker, isn't she?"

A picture of Alex's friend and long-time crush, one taken before her arrest in which she wore a revealing pink bikini, appeared beside the video of the hosts. Alex, herself had taken that picture a little over three years ago. She had, in fact, masturbated to it. Frequently. 

"Not much of a chest though," Letitia commented. "She's gotta be, what, a B-cup, tops?"

"True," Carl nodded, "But look at that perfect bubble-butt! Besides, not to get ahead of ourselves here, but next time, in three weeks, it's going to be Linneman's partner in crime, Alexis Hearn, a genuine curvy Irish red-head with freckles and knockers almost as big as yours!"

Letitia sniffed. "Almost. Though we'll have to wait for three weeks."

Alex's cheeks burned red. She did not want to hear about herself. It was bad enough that she had to watch her friend die like this, that she would soon die like this too. Also, wasn't this show supposed to be the one whose hosts _weren't_ airheads? They were talking about her breasts like teenage boys in a locker room!

"Now, I will say," Letitia went on, "for those of you who have any moral qualms about this whole institution of violent rad-femmie executions, tonight you can rest easy. This girl didn't scratch a police officer's arm with her nails. Oh, no. Her husband tried to prevent her from going to a rad-femmie protest. She killed him for it. Actually, she kicked him in the family jewels first, and then killed him for it. Candace Linneman put her crazy ideas not only before her marriage, but her husband's life. His name was Sean Linneman. No doubt about it either, she confessed right away. I think we can all agree she deserves what she's got coming. We're all better off without _this_ one." 

Alex was simultaneously infuriated and unsurprised by this assessment. Even though Sean's death had obviously been an accident, the media narrative downplayed that angle. In court the prosecution argued that it didn't matter whether the death was accidental, the kick to Sean's groin qualified the attack as a deliberate, violent, radical feminist act. However, since the possibility of an accidental death wasn't as dramatic, most coverage of the trial completely glossed over that important detail.

"Definitely not," Carl agreed with his wife. "But, before we get much further, I think it's time for the disclaimer." 

"Right," Letitia said. "Listen up, my fellow kinksters. I know some of you are ready to puke from hearing this over and over. We go over this before every single show because it matters. Because it saves lives. It might save yours. Of the big five we're the only one that talks about this, but if you ask me everyone else should do it too."

"You're all here to watch Candace Linneman die tonight," Carl said matter-of-factly. "A lot of us in the community are turned on by a beautiful naked woman in pain, and that's okay. Candace Linneman will die no matter what you do, and there's nothing wrong with finding some pleasure in what's about to happen. But--"

There was so much wrong with that, as far as Alex was concerned. So, so much.

"But!" Carl exclaimed. "But, Candace Linneman has been convicted and sentenced to be burned on the stake by the Federal Government of the United States of America. The appeals have been filed and rejected, the 'i's have been dotted and 't's have been crossed. As a Federally mandated execution, what's about to happen to her is neither safe or consensual. It is only sane because she was given a fair trial administered by the Federal government and convicted by a jury of her peers. This is real life, not BDSM role-play. A lot of you like to, ahem, play along, as it were. We're here to remind you, the viewers, that none of you are Federal executioners, and no court has handed any of you a death sentence. Be responsible. Tonight and always, keep your _own_ activities safe, sane and consensual."

"You have no idea how often people, especially those of you really into breath play, accidentally commit suicide during these executions," Letitia said. "Never mind it's a burning not a hanging. Yes, breath play is fun, Carl and I've explored it plenty, but you need to be careful. We have a whole section of our site dedicated on how to be safe, but it doesn't do much good if no one reads it! So, so often, we hear about near-death experiences from people who think, 'I'll breathe when she's finally dead, she's almost done.' Spoiler alert: She's going to last a while. A burning takes time. That's the whole point. She is going to be in agony for a long, long time. You can't go without breathing for forty-five minutes to an hour. Don't try. You're going to get hurt, or die. Then, we take the flak because we're the kinky BDSM stream."

"Usually, it turns out they were watching Atonement." Carl added. "Which is why we talk about this, and why everyone else should too. Deep down, everyone watching Candace tonight is getting off on it. We're the ones who own up to that, and want all of you to go about it safely." 

"An hour is a long time," Letitia said. "A lot of activities that are fine in small doses can be very dangerous if you go that long. Don't try to whip, cane, flog or even spank someone for that entire time. If you're going that route, do one stroke every minute rather than anything continuous. You also need to be really careful that you're using bondage equipment that doesn't cut off or restrict blood flow for that length of time. Maximum time on nipple clamp application is thirty minutes, and fifteen for the ones with stronger springs. Err on the side of caution, and don't go over fifteen minutes on any sort of clamp. Be careful, and always, always, always use safe words with your partner!"

Carl nodded emphatically "If you're sure you want to do a scene that lasts for the whole execution, we recommend focusing on tease and denial, forced orgasms, or a combination of the two. You're not likely to die from blue balls, or coming once too often, but extreme denial or post-orgasm torture can get really intense. Have your partner hold a magic wand against your cock or clit when the execution starts, and chances are you're going to safe-word long before Candace gives up the ghost. Letitia and I have some experience with this, search the videos in our catalog for "orgasm denial" and "post-orgasm torture" to see just what I'm talking about."

"Oh my god! That time you strapped me to a Sybian for an hour, I thought I was going to die!" Letitia exclaimed.

Carl grinned an evil grin. "Hah! You were panting and drooling a river by the end, there. But you didn't safe-word out."

"You almost did, though. Remember?" It was Letitia's turn to grin. "One shoot, five ejaculations, however long it took. We did it in one long shot, one camera angle to prove we didn't splice it together. I didn't stop moving that little squishy silicone stroker over your cock for almost an hour and half, until I got those five orgasms out of you. And then, at the end, you told me if it had been six, you would have safe-worded out right then?"

"Yup," Carl nodded. "After that, I told you, the most I'm ever willing to do in a single take is three. That's my limit, realistically."

"Yeah, but I musta come, what, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five times on that Sybian?" Lititial countered. "Probably more. How is that fair?"

"The reality of the male refractory period," Carl insisted. "And, just so all you know, our website is a fully authorized reseller of multiple popular brands of magic wands, male strokers and motorized sex toys. We sell every toy we've ever used in one of our videos so long as it's still being manufactured, and we only sell high quality products we're willing to use ourselves, and feature in our videos."

The web address scrolled across the bottom of the screen as he spoke.

"But, that's enough of a shameless plug for now," Letitia said. "We sell the good shit. You know it, everyone knows it, check it out if you're as kinky as we are and have the cash. End of story. But now, it looks like it's Candace Linneman's story that's about to end. The video feed from the prison just went live, so it looks like they're about ready to start the execution."

* * *

Candace was about to die and she desperately had to pee. 

She had to poop, too. Only, she couldn't. Literally. She was now incapable of exercising those normal bodily functions. 

That's what Phillip meant when he mentioned getting her "prepped and plugged." He explained that dying people reflexively urinated and defecated and the United States government had decided that wasn't something they wanted to include as part of their execution broadcasts. Somehow her exposed naked body, her dying shrieks, and her horrific death were perfectly acceptable viewing material. Yet, they drew the line at pee and poop.

So, in the prep room, they'd strapped her to a gyno chair, and then squeezed a type of liquid foam up into her butt and up through a catheter they inserted into her bladder. The catheter was quickly pulled out, but the foam remained. It went in as a liquid and then quickly dried to a foam-like consistency that would serve as a plug to prevent any excretion during the execution. 

The foam also expanded as it dried and solidified, filling her to the point where it felt like she would burst. As Candace walked to the death chamber, she soon had to pee worse than she ever had in her life. However, no matter how she tried, and reflexively squeezed her muscles down there, nothing would come out.

"I know it's uncomfortable," Phillip told her. "But look at it this way: Soon, it won't matter."

That did not make her feel any better. Nevertheless, she said nothing, trying to refrain from squirming too obviously at the intense sensation of her full bladder and equally full rectum.

Then, there was the cream that Phillip gently rubbed into her. At least, it was probably the cream, and not the act of rubbing it in. Or maybe both. She shouldn't feel...

"I know this is embarrassing, but this is meant to relax your blood vessels and help get the blood flowing down here. First, they want everything to slip in easily, and second more blood flow will mean increased sensitivity in your clitoral nerves. The protocol calls for increasing sensitivity because, well, it's meant to be cruel. You may find yourself getting wet. Don't worry, that's perfectly normal."

Well, Candace had to admit, she was a bit wet. And aroused. A man had been touching her between her legs for a few minutes, the last time anyone would ever touch her there. He was an attractive man, too and she could smell his scent as he worked on her. She could...

She could ask if he wanted to have sex. If it didn't happen now, it would never happen. No one had to know. One last time before the end. He was married, he had a kid, but he was a guy, maybe he'd go for it. Or maybe she could offer to suck him? She could...

No! She couldn't think that way. He was evil. He was her executioner and anyone who did what he did was a vile piece of scum. How could he?

However, that didn't change the embarrassing moisture forming between her legs.

The men, the misogynists that passed these fucked up laws like to label feminists as sluts. It was stupid, she'd never had sex with anyone other than Sean, and hadn't let him sleep with her until they were already engaged. She didn't even curse, something everyone she'd ever known since high school had teased her about. She'd never been a slut.

But now, minutes away from death, a little lube between her legs, the smell of an attractive man and she was dripping. They'd _made her into a slut_ for this freakish, sadistic performance. 

She wasn't going to say a goddamn word. 

She'd been told that sometimes the women tried to touch themselves, to get off on the stake before they died, which was clear evidence of how slutty they were. In spite of what she was feeling, she wouldn't stoop to that. She would be.. she would be _damned_ if she would let anyone see what she was feeling.

Actually, she was just damned, period. The were going to _burn her on the stake._

She would never have another orgasm, in spite of how she dripped.

Candace shivered. Mostly from fear and the discomfort of her unfulfilled bodily functions. Mostly.

Clink, Click. Clink, Click. Clink, Click.

The only sound in the hallway was the click of the chains around her feet and wrists coupled with the click of her stilettos as she walked slowly towards her death. For some reason, Phillip had directed her to put on the shoes before forcing her into the gyno chair to get "plugged." What was up with that? Did Phillip save the uncomfortable part for last to spare her pain, as he would no doubt claim? Or, did they want to ensure the shoes were part of her torment from start to finish, a genuine artifact of this grotesque ritual execution that would get a higher price at auction? She suspected the latter.

Soon enough, she reached the door to the room where she would die.

"I'm going to go in first," Phillip told her, "I'll give my little speech about what's going to happen, while you wait here. Then, we're going to bring you in and get started. Okay?"

"Okay." Nothing about this was in any way, shape or form, okay. She was, however, quite obviously not being given any say in this. They were going to burn her no matter what she said or did.

In these last few moments, alone in the hallway with Phillips attractive, well-muscled female assistants, Candace found her thoughts wandering. to Alex, her old friend. They were going to burn her friend too, and it was all her fault.

Candace hadn't ever made an effort to reach out to Alex after the trial. Alex probably hated her. In her friend's shoes Candace would hate herself. It was all her fault, she was going to die, Alex was going to die, and, and... this was really the end, wasn't it?

Oh god, this was the end. And it was going to hurt so much. Down there. Those screams she'd heard through the covers when they'd broadcast that execution in her cell, they were like nothing she'd ever heard. She could tell that woman was dying, just from the inhuman sound she made as she died, as if her very soul was being ripped from her body. That was going to be her. And Alex, too. 

She'd never told Alex, either. If it wasn't for Sean, well... Candace had always tried to act the proper lady, someone who followed the rules, in spite of that rebellious streak in her. In spite of the fact she was more Bi, than straight. Girls could be attractive too, and Alex hit all the right buttons. That infectious smile, framed by those freckles, that beautiful coppery red hair, not to mention those magnificent curves. And besides, Alex had always been so, so, so obviously crushing on her. She probably thought she was hiding it, but really, it was hard not to notice. It had been cute. And, maybe kinda-sorta hot.

Or really hot. If it hadn't been for Sean...

It was that damn cream, making her think these sexy thoughts, wasn't it? Well, so what? Alex wasn't a misogynist, she'd been fighting that crap. She was even more a victim, than Candace. If Candace could have been anywhere in her last moments, it would have been with Alex, their arms around each other, their lips pressed together...

She felt the warmth between her legs intensify. God, she was getting so horny at that thought. 

But well, Alex probably hated her, and for good reason. Even if it were magically possible to see her friend, she'd probably just as soon slap Candace across the face than kiss her. 

She was so alone, now. Alone, and naked, and unable to relieve herself, and horny, and about to die by one of the worst possible execution methods anyone had ever invented.

She was breathing heavily, on the verge of panic. This was really about to happen. To her. For real.

The door opened and Phillip gestured for the guards to lead her in.

There, in the center of the otherwise white, featureless room stood a raised, circular wooden dais about ten feet in diameter. The only other feature of note was a large black digital clock on the wall with red numbers that currently stood unchanging at 00:00:00:00. A polished steel pole rose from the center of the platform, to about knee height. However, everyone knew that pole could and would be adjusted higher, as high as was required. It was the stake on which she would be burned.

The end of the metal pole flared outward, into a phallic cylinder with a rounded top, essentially a stainless steel dildo. The side of that deadly dildo was engraved with the image of a cartoonish older man wearing a crown and a diabolical grin. Just as they'd given some of the old electric chairs whimsical names like "Old Sparky", they'd named the stake "Big Eddie." The name was a reference to the legend, which was probably not historically accurate, regarding the death of the English King, King Edward II. Big Eddie was intended for a different hole at a different temperature, but the similarities were obvious.

Candace was led up onto the dais and made to stand directly over the pole. The assistants held her firmly in place as Phillip flipped a switch on the remote control he held, and the pole began to rise very slowly. Standing upright, she couldn't quite see how close it was, or tell when it would reach the level of her crotch, but sometime within the next ten seconds Big Eddie would penetrate her.

In a surreal daze, she listened to the motors whir quietly, waiting for the metal to reach her. 

When it slipped in, it wasn't particularly painful. She was already so wet that the smooth metal pushed easily into her body, with minimal resistance. But, the pole kept rising. Candace gasped in pain when Big Eddie filled her completely, forcefully pressing against her cervix. Only then, did the motors power down, and the pole stop moving upward. 

The guards stepped back.

Phillip pressed another button on his remote control and the shackles around Candace's legs opened, the restraints falling away. Likewise, the chain connecting the wrist cuffs behind her back fell away, leaving her hands free. One of the assistants used something that looked like a broom to sweep the fallen restraints off the dais and away from view.

She was now able to swing her arms and legs at will, but it didn't matter. She was trapped on the steel pole, on the stake. The purpose of the stilettos was to forced her feet upward, so she was effectively on the tips of her toes. That meant there was no way she could get the leverage necessary to jump up and off the pole. There was nowhere on the pole for her hands to find purchase to push herself upward either. She couldn't bend very far, either filled by the rigid, steel dildo. She was utterly and completely trapped in place by the massive steel phallus filling her vagina.

This sexualized method of restraint had initially been invented by sexual deviants, and named a "one bar prison." Then, it had been perverted even further, turned to an even more obscene and terrible purpose. Some Russian sadists decided to turn the one bar prison into a method of execution by putting a powerful heating element in the business end.

Even though Candace could move her hands, the extra-wide wrist-cuffs remained, covering her entire wrists. She'd been told they did this specifically to prevent her from killing herself prematurely by biting through her skin and severing the major arteries in her wrists. She could and would scream and kick and wave her arms like a mad-woman as she died, but there would be absolutely no way to escape the pain as Big Eddie began to cook her alive.

"Candace Linneman," Phillip announced in a loud clear voice. "You have been convicted by a jury of your peers and sentenced to die by burning on the stake. Do you have any last words?"

She hadn't prepared anything. Somehow, she never quite believe this would really, truly happen to her. She winged it.

"You're all evil!" She declared. "Evil. Every single one of you creepy scum-bags out there, watching this. Why? Just, why? If you can't understand why killing women just for wanting the same rights as men, as the pigs, is a serious problem, _you_ are the problem. If you can't understand why burning women to death is barbaric madness, _you_ are the barbarians, the mad-men who've lost their minds. They fought wars to stop people like you. Yes, you! Everyone out their watching included! But, here we are! I mean, what the Hell?"

She'd told Phillip that, and it seemed like a good thing to say now. 

"Oh, and one more thing!" She continued before they decided her time was up. "Alex, if you're out there, if you're listening to this, I'm sorry, okay? I had no idea this would happen. It's even less your fault than my fault, but I never... I, I'm sorry. I'm just sorry. These scum-bags, these men, that do this to us, to you, can all go to Hell. And, and, and.. okay, here it is, I knew about your crush on me, and I thought it was cute, and I would have totally explored that if Sean wasn't in the picture. I would have. I so, regret not finding out where that might have gone, and, well, like I said, I'm just so sorry. Maybe try to forgive me? Please?"

She paused. She had nothing left to say. This was happening.

Phillip waited expectantly, seemed to wait for her to signal she was done.

"...and, what are you waiting for you gutless perverted pigs? Are you going to murder me or not?"

Philip nodded curtly and flicked another button on his remote control. "Let's begin, then."

Candace didn't feel the heat right away, it would take about five minutes before the metal inside her reached the target temperature. But, the process that would inevitably end in her death had started.

The red numbers on the clock began to rapidly count upward, marking off the time, down to the hundredths of a second since the execution began. Across the world clocks were synchronized, and began to tick relentlessly along with it.

* * *

"And NOW," thundered Reverend Nathaniel Ezekiel King, on the set of _Righteous Atonement_. "NOW! We shall SEE that the SINNER shall be RENDERED unto the LORD for his MERCIFUL judgment. Only the LORD may judge, but you all shall BEAR WITNESS, as this JEZEBEL must finally contend with her VERY own, VERY personal... FIERY PIT OF SIN!"

The live studio audience went wild, as they always did when he uttered his catch-phrase. On the enormous screen behind the stage where he preached, the naked woman squirmed on her stake as it began to warm within her.

* * *

"As always, the real question is whether it will be heart failure or heat stroke," Dr. Katrina Blumenthal explained to the viewers of _Medical Odds and Legal Ends_ , as she did during this phase of every burning. 

"The first thing you have to understand is that the heat is only being applied to her one small part of her body. There's a lot of nerves down there, but there's a good fifteen to eighteen inches between her genitalia and the organs that will kill her quick if they fail. That is, the heart, the lungs, and of course the brain but that's higher still. While the lungs extend lower than the heart, they're cooled somewhat by the constant contact with room temperature air as she breathes, so it's the heart that starts to have problems first. Additionally, shock from the extreme pain can substantially weaken the heart muscle. On the other hand, blood is circulating through her body, and as time passes her core body temperature starts to slowly rise. If that gets too high before her heart fails she'll pass out, then die of heat stroke."

"Also, they keep the temperature low, to prolong the process, right?" Her co-host, Kenneth asked. 

The show-runners insisted that there be dialogue between the co-hosts, instead of a "monolithic biology lesson," which meant Kenneth had to ask the same inane questions every time, to break up the explanation. It irked Katrina, but she was paid well, and the she couldn't argue with the viewership. Also, while the medical board was more open minded, and would let her keep her license, finding a hospital that wanted a female doctor on staff was a challenge in the modern world. Her employment prospects were rather limited if she lost this job.

"That's right," she confirmed. "The second important thing to understand about a burning, is that despite the name they only heat the probe inside her to one-hundred-forty degrees Fahrenheit, or sixty degrees Celsius. That's more than enough to burn her skin and kill her, but significantly lower than the flames of a candle or burning wood, which clock in between five hundred and a thousand degrees Fahrenheit. A 'red-hot' poker, of the sort that allegedly killed King Edward II would similarly be around a thousand degrees. It's also worth noting that women burned _at_ the stake back in medieval times, frequently died of lung failure from inhaling burning smoke and embers, long before the heat of the flames around them penetrated deep enough to cause major organ failure. A modern burning employs a very limited, focused heat without any smoke, which significantly prolongs the execution." 

"When I have family over for the holidays, I slow-roast my prime rib at around two-fifty degrees, a hundred degrees above that." Kenneth commented. 

"Well, they're not cooking meat for consumption here, and they're not cooking her all the way through like your roast. I'd also point out that the final internal temperature of your medium-rare prime rib is probably pretty close to one-forty Fahrenheit. The stated reason for the low temperature is to prolong the destruction of her nerve endings, particularly the nerve endings in her clitoris, which has a higher nerve density than any other human body part, male or female. When the nerve endings are destroyed, a person no longer feels pain. So, to maximize her pain, the temperature is set low enough that she's only going to start losing all feeling in that region when she's about to die of heat stroke anyway."

"So the goal is to slow-roast her clit while she's still alive?"

Katrina nodded, then gestured to bring up a rotating 3D model of a woman's clitoris in the lower right hand corner of the broadcast screen. "You got it. Keep in mind that the clitoris is a larger organ than many people realize. The external glans is small, but as you can see in this diagram the internal portion extends under the skin and wraps around the birth canal, exactly where the heated metal is being applied."

"Alright, then, you tell me: heart attack or heat stroke?" Kenneth prompted her.

"Well, as you know, past statistics favor heart failure two-to-one. But, Candace here is young, thin, and no history of heart failure among her immediate family. so she most likely has a good strong heart. In her case I'd say it's about fifty-fifty, maybe slightly favoring heat stroke and right now it looks like the money agrees with me. Looks like the odds market has it at fifty-three-point-eight-one percent chance of heat stroke vs forty-four-point-six-one percent chance of heart failure, leaving a one-point-five-eight percent chance that another organ failure or medical problem kills her first. Heart failure is typically a quicker death, which means that we have a higher probability that Candace will last beyond the one hour mark. We project a ninety percent confidence interval of time of death between thirty eight minutes and ten seconds and eighty-two minutes and forty seconds, with a seventy-seven percent chance she lives beyond forty five minutes and thirty-nine percent chance she survives the hour. 

"We'll keep you updated as those odds shift during the course of tonight's event, so watch closely! Oh, look, She's really starting to squirm. Here we go."

* * *

"Did you see how easily that dildo slid in her? She was sooooo wet!" Candi crooned to her sister. "Talk about a girl who needs to get laid!"

She briefly replayed the shot from the camera mounted under the stake, aimed directly at the condemned girl's vulva, as Big Eddie penetrated her. There was clearly moisture there, and there was no denying how smoothly the dildo slid into her.

"Well, she was in prison for the last year, wasn't she?" Brandi countered. "I mean, unless she got lucky with a hunky guard, what do you expect? Oh, wait, do they allow.. whadda-ya-call 'em comical visits? To get fucked?"

"I sure hope so," Candi nodded. "I mean a hot, hot metal cock is one thing, but a whole year without getting a good, hard pounding? That's just _wrong!_ "

* * *

An anthropomorphic cartoon doe with huge breasts was impaled on a crude metal pole. Several other animals with humanoid characteristics crowded around, as a small fire was started at the base of the pole.

"Now, Deerie, you knew that eating the marigolds all along Main street was against the rules. We just can't have that, you little rascal. Sunshine Glade is a happy, friendly place, and there's no room for naughty little animals like you. That's why we have to burn you!" a pompous looking cat, with a pink bow on her head declared to the assembled animals..

The other animals cheered as the doe, along with the dying human displayed in the opposite panel of the broadcast, cried out and began to wiggle her body in distress.

* * *

After spending the last three months building a self-bondage rig for herself, Samantha Wang was finally ready to find out how well it worked.

The wrist and leg cuffs, latched with an electromagnetic lock bound her firmly to the chair. The circuit was wired to the death clock on the burning of Candace Linneman, and would only unlock when the power was cut or the clock stopped, at the moment of Candace's death. Likewise, the circuit for the magic-wand style vibrator pressed against her clit would only shut off, when the execution was over. The restraints meant that she couldn't wiggle off of it, only endure.

The forced-orgasm suggestion she saw on Triple-D had turned Sam on _so_ much, even more than the executions themselves. At first, she tried to force herself to hold her vibrator there herself, but quickly learned that after her first two climaxes she just couldn't do it anymore, it was too intense. 

Then, she asked her boyfriend. Unfortunately, as soon as she really started to squirm and struggle under the vibrator he got uncomfortable and stopped. He'd taken the whole safe, sane, and consensual thing to heart, and insisted on using safe words. She, however, couldn't help but safe-word out after a certain point. 

Also, she got the distinct sense he wasn't as _into_ these burnings as she was. The idea of being up there, utterly helpless, made to suffer... it did things to her.

Sam tried to explain to her other half that there was nothing dangerous about what she wanted to do: It was just orgasms, it wasn't dangerous and she wanted this. She just couldn't help herself at the time, and used the safe-word. Couldn't they skip safe-words just for this?

He said no.

She therefore designed, programmed, 3D printed and assembled her very own self-bondage rig. She wanted to experience this, to be forced past her limits, forced to come and come and come until it hurt and the girl on the screen was gone.

Sam was just as helpless as Candace, now. She had no way whatsoever to stop what her rig was going to do to her, even though unlike Candace she would be fine afterwords. That thought turned her on immensely.

The vibrator buzzed incessantly against her clit, and Sam felt herself near her first orgasm.

If this worked the way she intended, she had an idea about selling a similar rig, or maybe just the code or plans for it online. She couldn't be the only one who wanted this, could she? She'd have to ask her boyfriend if she could open all the necessary accounts with the payment processors and the banks in his name, but he'd probably agree to that. She was good at convincing him to do what she wanted, so long as it didn't involve hurting her... though she was working on that.

The screen in front of her was broadcasting _Odds and Ends_. Candace let out her first real scream, drowning out Dr. Blumenthal, just as Sam reached her first orgasm.

* * *

Alex was in tears.

Candace was so, so beautiful, but at the same time what was being done to her was so, so ugly. 

She'd called out Alex by name, asking for forgiveness, begging for forgiveness she could no longer communicate. And she'd known about her feelings. And she might have returned them, if only...

If only. If only she could tell Candace that yes, she forgave her. If only, there was a world where she could run away with this beautiful, amazing friend and they hold each other close, naked and in bed, forever. Away from here, away from a reality where anything like this could ever happen.

Except, this was reality, and it was happening. A high pitched shriek, the first of many, forced her to focus on what was happening on the video feed.

Candace stood there on the metal stake, writhing, flailing, eyes wide, as she began to truly howl in agony.

Alex wanted to turn away, to hide from that horrible sound. Yet, this was Candace. Beautiful, sexy Candace. She forced herself to watch as the spectacle unfolded.

* * *

At first, Candace felt nothing. 

Then she felt mild warmth, as she moved her free hands and legs, bending and stretching experimentally, trying to find a way to squeeze herself off the pole.

Unsurprisingly, she was quite stuck. This was a Federal execution. The people that build the stake knew their business.

Soon, the metal filling her wasn't merely warm. It was hot. She gasped at the fiery sensation. She bucked her hips, kicked her legs up as hard as she could to get away from the rapidly intensifying heat, to find any possible way to squeeze herself off the dildo.

Candace tried grabbing the pole with her hands, but not only did she have trouble finding a grip on the smooth surface of the metal, it had became hot enough that it hurt to hold on for any length of time.

And then the heat between her legs began to move beyond the realm of anything tolerable. It _hurt._ It _burned._

She screamed.

All of her private, feminine parts were burning. Would she ever be able to have a baby after this?

Of course not, there was nothing after this. She would never be a mother. They were killing her. Burning her. Hurting her. It _hurt so bad._

The red numbers on the clock read 00:05:38:44, the last two digits a blur as they flicked by so fast she couldn't follow them. She tried to focus on the numbers as an anchor for her sanity as the fiery pain threatened to overwhelm her sanity.

_Make it stop, get away, oh my god, make it stop, get away, make it stop, get away, make it stop, it hurt and it burned and hurt and it BURNED._

It was a losing battle. 

There was only the pain and the heat and the burning and the screaming. 

She was screaming? She was screaming. That was her.

Was she dying yet? It must have been half an hour, at least. She was dying, she must be dying, she was dying and it burned and she was dying and she needed to die already and it BURNED. 

BURNED. 

_BURNED._

_**BURNED**_.

She couldn't focus on the clock. There was only pain, and it only intensified.

00:09:36:12

* * *

"Bear WITNESS to the JUSTICE of your LORD my friends! For the RIGHTEOUS will be SPARED and the SINNERS will KNOW the FIRE of RETRIBUTION!"

* * *

"At this point you can see some redness around her pelvic region, which is expected. But, look at those good, strong kicks. I'd say her heart is in fine shape, and I'd put it at better than even odds she makes it to the one-hour mark, though the market still thinks it's closer to a forty-five percent... oh wait, there we go, forty-nine now..."

* * *

Brandi called her boyfriend, Rob, in the middle of her show and put him on speaker. "You hear that baby? You think you can make me scream like that for a full fifteen minutes later tonight? Just so you know, I'm recording this, everyone's listening and I'm holding you to any promises you make here!" 

* * *

"So we're clear, you can tell she's dying up there," Letitia told her viewers. "You hear your sub scream like _that_ , you check on 'em real quick. This is why you use a safe-word system that has a word for keep going, like 'green' in the traffic-light system. You check and your sub says 'green' or uses the keep-going word, you keep going but you gotta be able to check. Some subs are vocal, but sometimes there's something wrong.*

"But, feel free to enjoy watching Candace getting her cunt cooked, she has it coming. She killed her husband," Carl reminded his audience.

"Oh, yeah, definitely" Letitia agreed. "Shame she has such small tits though. They're bouncing a bit, but she's a firm one too. It's really spectacular to see the big ones really swing around"

"We know, we know, you're such a size queen!" Carl grinned.

"'Course! Everyone knows it, they've all seen that python you've got trapped down your pants!"

* * *

The cartoon doe was making panicked bleating noises.

"Maybe she's learned her lesson, maybe we could let her down," a raccoon said to a rabbit. "We'll just plant new marigolds."

"Those marigolds looked delicious, and I didn't eat any of them," the rabbit replied self-righteously. "And besides, who's to say she wouldn't eat them again if we let her stay?"

"I suppose you're right," the raccoon agreed reluctantly, as the wide-eye doe, and the human displayed opposite her were slowly burned to death.

* * * 

Alex watched, riveted, as Candace suffered as no one should ever have to suffer. It went on, and on, and on. Her beautiful, toned, naked body jerked and spasmed and struggled as she screamed. She was dying, and yet she remained alive to experience this ultimate form of torture. 

Alex watched the agony in her friend's eyes. In her would-be lovers eyes. 

Seeing them do this to Candace was a form of torture in and of itself, but she couldn't look away.

* * *

The electromagnetic locks on Sam's self-bondage rig were quite secure. The vibrator was quite powerful and it was quite firmly anchored against her crotch. After three powerful orgasms, it was no longer quite so arousing. 

In fact, it was _quite_ painful.

This wasn't really fun anymore. This was what she wanted, but now, maybe it wasn’t. This was probably why her boyfriend insisted on safe-words, wasn't it?

Her carefully programmed equipment did not care about her pain. That's how Sam had deliberately designed it.

On the broadcast, Candace Linneman shrieked like a dying animal. In a technical sense she was a dying animal. Humans were a type of animal.

 _Odds and Ends_ was saying Candace would probably last over an hour, and it had been barely over twenty five minutes so far.

That infernal vibrator kept right on buzzing against her hypersensitive clit. She cursed herself for doing this to herself, for going so far as to gag herself so the neighbors wouldn't hear if she cried out in either pain or pleasure.

The experience had definitely progressed beyond the realm of pleasure. Sam started to scream into her gag, hard. It hurt. Oh how it hurt!

Being helpless was sexy and fun but this was too much.

Too late.

She climaxed again, but sexual bliss had turned to sexual torture. She screamed through her gag again, and kept on screaming, right along with Candace.

Sam would survive, but her pussy was being tortured too.

* * *

Her entire awareness was that of pain.

There was no before. There was no after. There was only the now and the pain and the burning and the make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, oh god it hurt, make it stop, this couldn't be happening, she had to get it out but she couldn't get it out and it was getting worse and it hurt and it burned and it had to stop but it wouldn't stop, and it burned...

It kept burning hotter, hurting more, burning more, hurting worse. That was her world.

The world was white with red numbers and pain and kicking and thrashing and pain and screaming and burning and it hurt so bad, make it stop.

It was her world, it was all she could remember and imagine and at some point it would end.

It should end. She should end. But it burned and she screamed and it burned and it hurt.

This was her world, and it would never end. Would she ever die? Please? Now?

It hurt so bad.

_Make it stop, make it stop, make it end, make it stop, make it stop make it stop makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop..._

It didn't stop.

* * *

"And it looks like it's all over for Deerie Doe on the Roasted Kitten Show," Kenneth announced to the viewership of Odds and Ends. "After being burned for thirty seven minutes, her heart failed at exactly thirty-seven minutes and twenty-three-point-nine-four seconds after the fire was lit. Looks like those of you who bet low on the deer, can collect your winnings. Looks like Candace is still going strong, though."

"Absolutely," Dr. Blumenthal confirmed. "The way she's still moving and kicking, I'm pretty sure at this point her heart is going to keep on ticking like a champ until the heat stroke gets her. That said, I see her really sweating, breathing harder. Her core temp is going up fast so I'd say her time of death by heat stroke is going to be just over an hour, maybe an hour and five minutes."

"Well, that's longer than, what, eighty, eighty-five percent of the burnings last, isn't it?"

"Not quite eighty-five, Ken" Katrina confirmed. "I have to say, this one is really suffering, but then it's hard to feel sympathy for a real murderer like her. It's violent criminals like Candace Linneman who these burnings were meant to punish, and it's fitting it looks like she's not going to bow out early with a bad heart."

"Well, anything could happen but she’s definitely not done yet, is she? Definitely still kicking."

"Indeed she is, Ken. Let's watch."

* * *

"She's certainly taking a while to finish," giggled Candi. "I wish my boy-toys lasted this long."

"I know, right?" Brandi agreed. "But she's a girl, and girls can keep going longer, you know? It’s down to biology. Biology was always my best subject, I even got a B once!"

* * *

Those of you out there, remember to ease up on the nipple clamps and tight restraints every fifteen minutes," Carl said. "We don't want any trips to the hospital while we wait for Candace to arrive at the morgue."

"Tell me Carl," Letitia asked, "Did we ever do a video where my eyes bugged out like that? I mean, damn."

"Hmm. Oh, remember the time we tried playing with the ghost-pepper sauce? Different sort of burn, but--"

"Oh, _fuck you_ ," Letitia cut him off. "I worked hard to forget about that, you son of a bitch!"

Carl shrugged. "You asked. But think happy thoughts. That rad-femmie murderess right there is getting burned even worse than _that._ "

* * *

They said you couldn't die from too many orgasms, but Sam wasn't so sure any more. It felt like she was dying. 

She'd become a dripping, suffering, sloppy, over-sensitive mess of a woman.

That insidious vibrating magic wand buzzed on, firmly lodged against her pussy as her nerves slowly numbed to the over-stimulation.

Candace continued to scream vigorously.

Sam continued to scream into her gag.

Would this never end?

How long could this bitch hold on?

* * *

"For the SINNER shall always and FOREVERMORE know the LORD is ETERNAL in his JUDGMENT, and that the FIERY PIT that AWAITS is likewise ETERNAL. We all CHOOSE our FATE and BEAR WITNESS to the RIGHTEOUS FURY that our LORD BESTOWS upon the UNWORTHY..."

* * *

Alex could tell the fight was going out of Candace. Her screams were diminished. Her kicks and arm movement seemed to lack the speed and vigorous force of her previous struggles. Her eyes though, remained wide and filled to bursting with agony.

Death would obviously be a mercy at this point. It would have been a mercy forty five minutes ago. Over fifty minutes had passed. Wasn't this reaching the limit of how long these executions were supposed to take? 

The cruelty was unbelievable. How could anyone who witnessed this ever conclude that this was justice? 

People were sick. The whole country was sick. The whole world was sick.

Alex continued to watch, hoping, praying that her friend's ordeal would end soon.

* * *

Phillip watched as the minutes passed, and the struggles of the dying girl gradually subsided.

Her eyes closed as she lost consciousness. Candace died not with a bang, not even with a whimper. At the very end, when her body shut down from the punishment it had taken, she was simply gone.

Phillip noted the official time of death by heat stroke and stopped the clock at one hour, twelve minutes and three-point-zero-four seconds since the start of the execution.

"That just squeaks into the top ten longest executions we've broadcast," He announced with his trademark smile. "Candace Linneman now clocks in at number nine between Gina Ramstein at one hour, ten minutes and fifty-two seconds, and Isla Whitmore at one hour, twelve minutes and twenty-four seconds. 

"I'd like to remind our audience that the auction for the one-of-a-kind size nine Theodore Ebon original Moonlit Elegance Stilettos worn by Candace Linneman tonight will begin in one hour. Our partners at the Heritage auction house will oversee the event here, though pre-qualified bidders from all over the world are welcome and encouraged to login remotely and participate in this event."

Thank you for being with us this evening, to see justice served. We'll be back in three weeks time, when Alexis Hearn, a co-conspirator of Candace Linneman, will meet her fate as well. Good night!"

The broadcast feeds shut off.

The naked remains of Candace Linneman leaned forward on Big Eddie, impaled and immobilized just as she had been as she died. Except for the sheen of sweat and the redness around her abdomen, there were no obvious external disfigurement, or clear signs of how she was put to death. 

The two assistants moved to take away the body. 

Phillip envied those women a bit. They were hard as nails, ex military, and besides they never had to push the button. He was the one who had to work the remote, every damn time.

He'd pressed that button one hundred and thirty nine times. He'd told all one hundred and thirty nine of them that he wouldn't inflict any more pain than he had to, and he'd been true to his word every time. Nevertheless, he'd watched every single one of them scream like animals as they were slowly tortured to death by the procedures he was required to follow. One hundred and thirty nine dead bodies had to be carried away, just like they were hauling off what was left of Candace right now.

In three weeks, it would be One forty, when Alexis Hearn died. And only one week after that, in four weeks, there was another one scheduled, Dena Lawrence. Then someone named Tamara Delaney. It never ended. 

There was always one more corpse to create.

His boss kept heaping praise on him, and telling him how he nailed every "performance." He'd been given a raise twice in the last year. 

Sometimes people recognized him on the street, only it was never, "that murdering pervert," which he expected, and suspected he deserved. It was always "that one guy from the death streams, can I get your autograph?" He was a minor celebrity.

Even so, he really, really hated his job.

* * *

Candace died. Instantly, the clamps unlocked, and the vibrator shut off. Sam had somehow survived her ordeal.

For a few minutes, she didn't move, didn't want to move. It took her a few minutes to come back to herself.

She was soaked with sweat and other more pungent fluids. She desperately needed a shower.

Well, that happened. 

Holy shit!

She was never, under any circumstances going to do that, ever going to even contemplate doing that to herself again. Ever. For any reason. And that was final.

Sam struggled to stand up, on shaking legs, then staggered to the bathroom of her small apartment.

First she used the toilet. Then, since she was already naked she stepped straight into the shower and let the hot, cleansing water flow over her. It felt amazing.

It was over now, Candace was finally dead, and she was fine. She was fine, right? 

She was fine. And, the rig had worked. It had worked flawlessly, actually. 

Her panicked, overwhelmed mental state slowly ebbed, and her normal, enthusiastic, analytical mind reasserted itself. 

She did her best thinking in the shower.

The locks were secure. The cuffs effectively held in place without cutting off circulation, and she definitely couldn't squirm away from the vibrator. Most importantly, the small micro-controller she'd assembled and programmed did it's job, connecting to the feeds, registering the end of the execution and unlocking everything as soon as time-of-death was announced. 

She'd built and run a full test suite multiple times, of course. That's how you built software. But still.. no bugs when it counted. Perfect performance. Damn, that was something to be proud of.

Her pussy ached. Well, there were obviously consequences. But they were _intended_ consequences. That had been the point, right?

She'd had an _experience._

That was kind of hot, right?

Her pussy still ached, and it was getting worse as the numbness wore off a bit. It would definitely be sore in the morning too. But hey, tomorrow was Saturday, so no big deal.

Now that she knew her rig worked, maybe she could work on building another couple of them, so she could sell them online. That was the plan, right?

But, would anyone actually want to go through... that? Like, really?

Also, while the controller and electromagnets were standardized, a lot of the parts she'd used were one-offs, to save money on construction costs. She'd found the sturdy wooden chair itself at a garage sale. She'd also measured and 3D-printed parts of the restraints specifically to be her size, and she was tiny. Most women weren't four-foot-even, stick-skinny Chinese twig girls with no boobs. 

How was she supposed to figure out the right sized restraints for an average woman? "Excuse me ma'am, what's the diameter of your wrists and thighs and ankles?" 

But, Sam knew it worked on herself. Could she use that? What if she did a broadcast of her own, of... herself.

Sam wasn't the least bit shy about her body, had very few qualms at the idea of exposing herself on camera. She and her boyfriend had been to plenty of BDSM play-parties, after-all. It was just that her, by herself... she wasn't very attractive. She wasn't fat, quite the exact opposite, but her chest was flat as a board, way more so than the girl that died tonight. And her face, was no better than average, if that. She always hated her face, and her limp black hair.

There was already so much porn out there, would anyone actually want to see a skinny, titless bitch orgasm herself silly? Would anyone care? Then again, how much porn was there of anyone going for a full hour? She'd done her research when building her rig, and there was surprisingly little that actually went that long other than some of Triple-D's classics.

But she’d actually done it! She’d just done it.

Of course this, that meant going through it all again. Just half an hour ago, she swore she would _never do that again._ This was a bad idea wasn't it?

Well, what was she going to do for the next burning, then? Hang out with her boyfriend who always seemed so uncomfortable? Just watch, without getting herself off? What fun was that? Oh, and next time it was going to be that hot, freckled redhead with the _massive_ breasts. It was going to be epic. She couldn't miss that!

Besides, it was a fluke this one lasted over an hour. Next one would be shorter. Probably. It would be way easier next time.

Oh, and! And! If people were paying attention to whatsername's giant knockers, maybe they wouldn't care so much about _her_ flat chest. Yeah, this could work. Yes, this could work quite well.

This would be perfect for showing off her invention, her rig, and getting some interest. She’d go over the details and features before she strapped herself in. Then, afterwords she would build more to sell, once she drummed up a market with her own broadcast. 

Sam would only have to use the rig herself once or twice more. Probably. Unless she wanted to do more.

She'd figure it out. She always did.

* * *

"Hearn gonna burn! Hearn gonna Burn! Ha ha ha ha!" The guard's laughter echoed in Alex's ears as the bitch walked away after resetting the screen in her cell.

Candace was gone. Her friend, her crush was gone, killed, murdered in the most gruesome way imaginable.

She was alone now, and she was going to die, just like Candace, just as horribly. The last hours of her own life were slipping away.

It was going to happen to her. She was going to be a corpse soon, burned to death as the world watched. As the world cheered. Exactly like they cheered when they killed her friend. 

Except maybe louder, because she had bigger boobs.

Fuck them all.

Alex lay down on her meager cot and sobbed as her own inevitable, gruesome end drew near.

* * *

"I know that look," Phillip's wife, Marian told him, when he arrived home.

"Yeah."

She gave him a long hug. Then, she gave him a long look. "So you know, I always tune in to watch you while you work, when I can. Tim was upstairs doing his homework tonight, so I put on my headphones and was there with you, in spirit. I know."

"Jesus, Marian," He said. "I've told you, you don't have to..."

She shushed him, putting a finger to his lips, and looked him straight in the eyes. "I know. I know. But listen: Even if it were me up there, naked on that pole, on that stake, and you have to push the button to get Tim his medicine... You. Push. That. Button." She gently poked his chest with every word. "Understand?"

Phillip didn't want to contemplate that. He swallowed. Instead of answering with words, he nodded.

Marian smiled. "Good. Now, Tim is refusing to go to bed unless you read to him first. I offered, but evidently I don't do the voices right, and he told me you two are just getting to the good part where they finally get to the dragon mountain. Since tomorrow is Saturday, and it isn't a school night, I told him he could stay up until you got home to read to him. Why don't you go on upstairs?"

He smiled, kissed his wife, and hurried upstairs. Reading to his son was the best part of his day.

Spending half an hour reading to his enthusiastic boy about dragons and secret doors and magic rings, really put things in perspective. His wife was a very smart woman. He just needed to be reminded what really mattered.

The world really wasn't such a bad place. Everything would be fine. 

Everything was fine.


End file.
